Desert Land
by Polar Oblivion
Summary: Mainframe’s final hours. A Data Sea turned to dust, a city in ashes. See ReBoot in all its glory, one last time.
1. The New Age

Western Defense Headquarters

Cheyenne Mountain

Autocracy Strategic Command

The lights came up in the spacious command center, the nucleus of the Autocracy's western front, bathing the room and its occupants in stark fluorescent clarity. For a moment no one spoke, the pervasive hum of machinery and the sharp sensation of electricity in the air cloaking them in raw ambience, dwarfing them. It crossed the mind of more than a few in that instant that the cluster of men in the doorway seemed insignificant objects and unnecessary indeed compared with the power at their command, coursing through the screens and wires and circuits all around them. Dominating the rear of the vast chamber, down a flight of stairs and through a pair of heavy blast doors, behind a triple-thick sheet of unbreakable bulletproof glass stood the imposing device its creators knew only as the Supercomputer. Generations of research and frustration, billions of dollars and the life's work of some of the greatest intellects the world had ever known merged to create this device – this _entity_ – that drew life from the pride, hard work and self-sacrifice of thousands; a product – perhaps the first – truly greater than the personnel who drafted its every component. Some thought it heresy; others called it a machine of the gods. The triumph of Man's mind.

"It's beautiful," Ross whispered, breaking the silence. Personnel filtered through the door around them, taking up posts at terminals and banks of equipment arrayed before the mammoth machine the hopes of a nation rested upon. "It is beautiful," General Latham said quietly, standing aside as tons of reinforced steel rolled into place behind him, cutting off a last glimpse into the twisting corridor that snaked upward through the facility toward the outside world. "And fragile. And powerful, and deadly. The power is in our hands today to destroy the world- or save it. In your hands, Chief Technician Ross." Adam Ross blushed beneath the general's cool and unwavering gaze. "We're more like custodians to that thing, sir," he said, gesturing past his men as monitors flickered to life and systems came up. He could almost feel the steady thrum of the computer's electric heartbeat, the pulsing heat dissipating in the room's supercooled atmosphere.

"He'll try again, you know," Latham mused, his arms crossed behind him, surveying the assembled team of technicians. "Sir?" "Their vaunted hacker. The one that tied up our facilities for _days_ chasing that Daemon hoax. The higher-ups were at their wits' end. I had orders in hand to shut down the Supercomputer before it was even operational – pending a complete reconstruction of all files and operating systems – before his "virus" vanished without a trace." "We've cut off all international communications, though," Ross ventured. "Complete refusal at nodes and satellite systems to outside access. Won't that make it pretty hard to hack in from overseas?" General Latham sighed, his shoulders slumped. "He's here," he said, his voice pitched for Ross to hear and nobody else. "Here in the Autocracy. Maybe even nearby. They said the passport was a brilliant forgery." His voice dripped sarcasm. "The people at Customs tell me he's calling himself Berg, Karl Berg, but it took them weeks of red tape and stupidity to figure that out. As a precaution, I've ordered every system on the Net re-imaged from here. We've noticed certain anomalies; a fractional drop in performance on gateway systems, an increase in network traffic. The patterns are faint but unmistakable. I think our security may already have been breached."

Ross swallowed hard, nodding, understanding the possible implications. The section leaders turned, one at a time, giving him the thumbs-up that indicated their readiness. The Supercomputer and its control network were online and awaiting input. The Chief Technician cleared his throat. "Begin the re-imaging process," he said. "Establish a satellite feed and initiate weapons calibration immediately." The four section leaders passed further detailed orders to their men, and the lights in the room dimmed as the Supercomputer began operating in earnest. "We need time to calibrate the new weapons platforms," General Latham said, his voice grave. "This machine is the only one in the country, maybe the world, with the processing power to do it. Any problems, any delays could doom this nation." He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head, watching the technicians work. The low murmur of conversation blended with the electric hum of the equipment to form a chaotic and vaguely disquieting murmur. "Cut the chatter," General Latham snapped, his voice intentionally harsh, the clipped and measured words slicing the atmosphere like a knife. "We're expecting her Britannic Majesty's attack within hours. I want us to be ready."

Screens and printers churned out streams of information and raw data, the nerve center of Autocracy defense pulsing and alive. Even deep within the insulated bowels of the mountain complex, Ross could feel the slashing roar of heavy bombers from the nearby airfield going supersonic overhead. The same sounds could be heard in cities and military installations all over the world: the shattering thunder of sonic booms, the cadenced rhythm of footfalls and marching songs that accompanied the troops, the tapping of keys that testified to warfare in the new age being waged even across the vast and unfeeling expanse of cyberspace. And in the chamber beyond, the Supercomputer stood almost silent, its indicator lights flashing, its drives spinning, the greatest and most terrible triumph of the mind of Man.


	2. Paradise

CyberZone Internet Café

Denver, Colorado

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Sunlight streamed in through the café's windows, highlighting dust trailers over the tables and small coffee bar. "Karl Berg" took a circumspect look around, sipping his coffee and waiting for the laptop to boot. He noted the group at the bar, mostly older men huddled around newspapers and steaming mugs of their own, and a number of people in the smoke-filled and dimly lit back room who appeared to have been there all night. Looks of intense concentration dominated the faces he could see; he guessed, correctly, that he had arrived in the waning hours of an all-night LAN tournament.

There were a few others like himself at the tables, business types, working with laptops open. Berg glanced down at his machine, pulling a disk from the duffel bag at his side and slipping it into the drive. A notification appeared on-screen indicating a wireless connection with the café's network had been negotiated. He smiled. Everything, in a sense, came down to this: the months of programming, testing, and preparation; that interminable period of nervous tension crossing the border, the drive to Denver and his selection of the nondescript little café as the Insertion Point.

He opened a window and began sizing up the local security. Another quicksilver grin flashed across his features. The place was perfect. It wouldn't even require much prep work to do what he had in mind. "That's a nice system you've got there." Berg turned to see the man peering over his shoulder- and found himself staring at a Colorado State Trooper's badge. The conversational smile froze on his face. He forced himself to relax and tried to appear natural. How could they have traced his route so quickly? "Cost me a pretty fair chunk of my life's savings, but it's worth it," he said, crossing his fingers it was a chance encounter and nothing more. "It really comes in handy on these long business trips."

The trooper frowned, raising his mug, a vague thought tugging at the edges of memory. "You don't sound like you're from around here," he ventured. "What parts are you from?" Another trooper entered the café. Berg's hands felt damp; his heart was racing with the tension of the moment. He could only hope his nervousness wasn't showing. "Hey, Pete," the other trooper called. "Chief says we've got a situation downtown." The man shrugged, turned and followed his companion out the door without a backward glance. Berg breathed a sigh of relief. Willing his heartbeat and the surge of adrenaline to subside, he uploaded the files to the café's server with shaking fingers and executed them. He powered down the laptop, sipping his coffee, permitting himself a slightly reassured smile at the exclamations of the customers as their terminals went dark.

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The Overlook

Floating Point Park

Mainframe

It was a quiet, gentle day. Sitting on the rocks at the lip of the overlook, just as he had so very long ago, Matrix could see the lush greenery of Floating Point park spread out and melt into a beautiful and stunning vista. All of Mainframe lay spread out below him. Up here, away from the noise of the city everything looked so picturesque. A soft breeze whispered through the dewy grass. It was a high place, and the sky was close. The world was as it had been before Daemon – before Megabyte. The sun painted the city with a late-morning glow though the air stayed clean and cool, and far away the Data Sea glimmered faintly along the horizon. It was achingly beautiful. The moment touched something deep inside the renegade, shadows from passing clouds drifting across the land, across golden memories of the system he called home. Everything was as it should be, as it had been in the beginning. Life in Mainframe had been made new and whole once more. The world was innocent again.

His senses, though, were still as sharp and alert as they had ever been. He heard the faint padding of bare feet coming up the path behind him but didn't turn, knowing to which sprite they belonged. AndrAIa sank down on the rocks beside him. "Hey," she whispered. Just one word. Her arm went around him, strands of soft, silken hair falling across Matrix's shoulders. She laid her head to rest next to his, enjoying the feel of him, his closeness, sharing his silence. The two of them sat there for an eternal moment like gentle gods, gazing awestruck at the unexpected sheer beauty of their creation. Matrix turned his head then, away from the spectacular vista, to look into AndrAIa's eyes. To drink in _her_ beauty, to pull her back with him onto the sweet spring grass. They stayed there together in that place at the top of the world, each wishing the moment could last forever, the renegade with a protective arm wrapped around the slender sprite at his side.

Their eyes traced the movement of clouds across the endless blue of the sky above, and the whispering wind carried the faint and musical sound of laughter from beneath the overlook. "That sounds like Dot," Matrix said. "And Bob." AndrAIa tapped the rim of one delicate and pointed ear. "Game sprite hearing, Sparky." "Can you hear what they're saying?" the renegade asked. "Does it matter?" AndrAIa twisted, planting a finger gently against his lips before he could say more. As the conversation drifted by below, words to the wind, she gazed deeply, deeply into the eyes of the sprite she loved.

"Glitch! Water gun!" "Bob, stop that!" Dot said, laughing, skipping backward out of the Guardian's range. "I shouldn't even be here. I've got that meeting with the software pirates to plan for, and these are my business clothes." "So reboot." Bob raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Besides, that meeting isn't for another _cycle_. You've got time, and Gavin will understand if you have to spend a little less time boasting about your profit margins." The notion of Gavin Capacitor, the Crimson Binome, giving her a knowing wink when she mentioned taking time off to be alone with Bob made her shudder and giggle a little at the same time. The Guardian sighted down the length of the transformed Glitch, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had Dot right where he wanted her. She stopped edging backward, her heel making contact with an immense rock formation. "Bob, no… stop that… my clothes… BOB!" He grinned mercilessly, stepped forward, and squeezed the trigger, jets of icy water soaking the "Oh, User, that's _cold_!" Dot sputtered, gasping as she booted into a different outfit.

"I win." Bob smiled, extending his hand. Dot took it. The two walked up the path toward Floating Point's famous overlook. "Where are Mouse and Ray today?" Bob asked. "I talked to Mouse earlier. She said they were going to take in some sights around the city, but knowing those two…" She trailed off as the roar of engines and a distant yell of pure excitement tore through the peaceful atmosphere of the park. Ship swooped low directly overhead, Ray Tracer and Baud flying patterns all around it, playing in the vessel's wake. It was a daring and graceful display, and Bob had to smile as he watched the pair soar off into the distance. "Knowing those two," he finished, "If they're going to do anything, it's got to be 'extreme'". Dot laughed as the two rounded the path's final bend, still hand in hand, approaching the steep rise below the overlook.

The held her hand out. "Shh," she said, motioning toward the pinnacle of the steep hill. "Look a those two. Isn't that the sweetest thing?" Matrix and AndrAIa, renegade and game sprite, lay side by side in each other's arms watching the clouds drift slowly across the sky… not a care in the world. Bob and Dot stood silent for a moment. The Guardian put his arm around her shoulders, and it felt good, it felt right for an instant before she remembered. He could feel her unease as she shrugged his arm away. A flicker of annoyance flashed across his features, not fast enough that Dot didn't catch it. "I'm sorry," she said. "Really. It's just…" "Forget about him. Please," he said, and the frustration and pain in his eyes were more than she could bear. "Can't you see none of that matters anymore?" She turned to face him, tears hovering on edges of her eyes. He gazed back, a worried but determined look. "Bob…"

A blinding flash of light erupted from the city. The Guardian shielded his eyes, then turned to look as the portal to the Net stabilized. "Gavin's early," he noted. "And he's been in a fight. Look at the _Mare_!" The portal vanished, leaving Capacitor's ship to limp into port, heavy battle damage marring the starboard side. "We need to get down to Port Authority and see what's going on," Bob said. "Are you okay?" Dot nodded, brushing her tears away. They could wait, she knew; they could always wait until there was time. The two sprites took to the sky on zip boards, hovering toward Kits Sector and their uncertain future. Spring, like peace, had finally come to Mainframe, but neither was to last.


End file.
